And On The Twelfth Day Of Christmas
by Random-Pixie123
Summary: 12 Christmas drabbles for the countdown to 25th December. Fluff and friendship will ensue. This is somewhat of a celebration of minor characters. Merry Christmas, everybody!
1. 12th

**In the countdown to Christmas, I wanted to write 12 Christmas-themed drabbles over the next week and a half. But because I was really sick yesterday, I didn't get around to posting this one, so there will be 2 today. I hope you like them. Inspired by Lex Complex's 'The Twelve Days of SKETmas' which you should check out. **

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The snow wasn't cold, nippy at most, like someone was scratching at his nose and fingertips with cool metal. It wasn't even really snow if he thought about it. It was a light yellow sludge, clinging to his shoes and slipping under his soles. It was a nuisance if anything. The grit he had asked to be put down had done little more than make the snow more distasteful in colour, and leave the faint smell of salt in the air. He could ask some first years to volunteer in shovelling it away. He checked his mental calendar and made a note. Thursday would work if he skipped lunch.

Tsubaki tucked his hands into his pockets and rubbed them against the cotton inside. He saw gloves as somewhat of a frivolity. Not to mention, they were impractical; they hindered his movements and made holding pens next to impossible. Efficiency was more than enough compensation for icy fingers. He didn't need them regardless. He had very few uses for his hands as he walked home. Organisation was his middle name and he would be damned if he sank to the level of derangement that required him to finish work on his journey. That would be absurd.

But that didn't stop Kiri from bringing him take-away tea every morning, in a flowery cardboard cup with a familiar logo he just couldn't place, insisting it would warm his hands if nothing else. Every morning when Tsubaki left his house, Kiri would wordlessly hand him the cup, and every morning Tsubaki told him it wasn't necessary. The general affairs manager would nod in response, only to show up the next morning with an identical cup. And every morning Kiri's smirk would grow larger, until one morning Tsubaki could almost classify it as a smile.

He was glad Kiri's stubbornness and his annoyance at that amused at least one of them but he didn't need tea. If the beverage exchange must have continued, he would have preferred canned coffee. It was practical, easily storable, and he doubted someone handing him an effortlessly bought can would result in butterflies in his stomach and the warming of his cheeks (and the rest of his body for that matter). Or maybe the tea was just doing its job. He couldn't tell.

Tsubaki looked both ways before crossing the street. His steps were precautious, possibly overly so, but there was no place he would rather slip up than in the middle of a reasonably busy road a mile away from Kaimei's school campus. An impatient driver honked at him before he reached the other pavement and he held back his glare. He was still wearing his uniform, and as president, the school's reputation was of great importance. The students needed to be polite and respectful, so he merely nodded in apology and sped up his pace fractionally. He silently thanked whichever god was listening that Kiri wasn't present. He doubted the car would look very nice with a Shuriken through its windshield. Nor would the driver look very nice with a knife through his skull.


	2. 11th

"Awwwww, look how cute it is!"

"My grandma has one of those in her house," Captain said, "but I'm pretty sure hers lights up."

The small glass snowman glinted in shop's window display, light-coloured porcelain reflecting the white snow that reflected the sun. Himeko pressed her face to the glass, sending swirls of cloudy condensation across the window, and grinned wider. "I should get one for _my _grandma. Do you think she'd like it?"

Christmas was fast approaching, and against their better judgement, the pair had left presents to the last minute, and thus were left to scout for gifts in a haphazardly packed environment, stocks low but prices high; it was a terrible decision in hindsight. Bag handles bit into Himeko's forearms and strained her shoulders but, after a glancing at the snow, she decided it would be unwise to put them down. Captain was already pushing the door to the shop open anyway, fumbling slightly with the knob as she juggled her shopping and tried to stop it from slipping down her wrists.

"Himeko, help me with the door."

"I have more bags than you do!"

She threw a sideways glare at Himeko, and rolled her eyes, then breaking of into peals of laughter as the brass bell hanging above the door chimed. Himeko's eyes crinkled.

Captain smiled at the old lady behind the counter, attempted a small wave, and squatted by a large glass case running up the length of the shop. Christmas novelty items were arranged in neat rows inside and she tapped the glass, watching a tacky Santa bobble head wiggle.

Himeko's knee nudged the side of Captain's head lightly as she leant against the case. "Do you know what you're getting for Christmas?"

"No," Captain shook her head, "my dad tends to be very secretive about these things...and my brother..." she sighed, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I'm pretty sure he bought me pelocans."

"Woah, you're so lucky!"

Captain grimaced and said nothing in response.


	3. 10th

She would have walked right past if it the little girl with the pig-tails hadn't pointed it out. To be fair, it was relatively dark and Mimori had never had the best observational skills. Things that required such a task were often done for her, or at the very least, she was aided. She didn't have any experience crossing the road, she took a helicopter two and from school. She never went looking for cute skirts; she had umpteen at her disposal, brought to her within seconds, also courtesy of the helicopter. Keeping a watchful eye for dangerous strangers was a completely foreign for her, being watch by body guards 24/7 sometimes had that effect on people.

So it was completely at the fault of whoever organised her upbringing that she very nearly missed the limited addition Marronnier Mania stuffed toy hanging from one of the carnival stalls. And she was confused. If that bear was so valuable or at least this is what she had gathered from Daisy's description, why had no-one bought it? Secondly, why would a shop keeper hang an item to the back of their stall, away from the reach of customers? Sure, she was incredibly unfamiliar with the setting, she had not been to a carnival since she was six, and even now she had a minimum of ten body guards around the premises, watching her and communicating through fancy mouthpieces she had never seen up close.

The sun was setting behind the wooden structure of the stall and Mimori frowned. Though slightly clueless, she had no problem with social interaction. She made friends wherever she went, although she sometimes doubted it had much to do with her personality. But she knew she was likable. She could easily ask the man behind the stall front to hand her the doll, though it seemed a little inconvenient.

"Exuse me," she said approaching the man with her friendliest smile, ignoring the way her bodyguards tensed, "I would like to buy that bear at the back, please." Daisy had specifically asked her not to buy her a Christmas present, but the opportunity had arose, and Mimori would hate to let it waste.

The man behind the stall furrowed his brow in confusion and leant forwards. One of her guards pulled out a gun. "Pardon."

"I would like to buy the bear," she pointed to the stuffed toy handing by a bow around its neck. The man raised his eyebrow, features still friendly but marginally irritated.

"It's not for sale." He gestured to the plastic balls placed across the counter that separated them, "You have to win it."

"Win it?"

"Yeah, you just," he picked up a orange ball to his right and mock threw it at the messily arranged pyramid of tin cans, "and if you knock them all down, you win a prize." He handed the ball to her, shaking his head in good humour as she fumbled with it. "¥150 per throw."

A guard to her left moved to approach them but she held up her hand and he backed away. "Are you sure I can't just buy it? I'll pay you a much as you want."

"I'm sure."

She sighed and gestured for one of the body guards to hand over her wallet. "I'll take three."


	4. 9th

Switch noticed that the other members of his club tended to react less brashly nowadays to Yuki's sudden entrances. A few shrieks or jolts were to be expected of any human (Switch himself not included), but Himeko no longer screamed bloody murder and Bossun had stopped crying so an improvement could be acknowledged.

She had climbed in through the window again, which really should have been expected (he doubted she even knew the door existed) except for the fact that it was snowing, and in order for her to enter in such a manner she had to walk around the circumference school, partially freezing to death if she felt such a thing as cold, and push snow from the window sill unto Bossun's tatami mat, and Bossun for that matter.

He suspected she just did it for kicks now.

Bossun had excused himself promptly, gripping his chest and breathing heavily. Himeko had merely knocked all the books from her desk in one large, swinging arm motion, and proceeded to pick them up one by one, watching the uninvited guest from the corner of her eye and grimacing.

Switch stayed silent.

A small gifted was wordlessly handed to him and he handled in prudently. The wrapping paper was creepifying at best, morbid in actuality. Small figures he suspected were dead bodies (perhaps dead babies should he look closer), littered disturbingly colourful paper. Whatever the paper contained was squishy, and if he was correct in guessing, oozing slightly.

Neither party exchanged any season's greetings as he handed over his present, practically placed in a silver gift bag and sealed with a simple knot. Yuki watched the bag contemplatively. Himeko focused on the content of her books.

She was, undoubtedly, one of the creepiest people Switch had ever met, and he supposed he should have found it so when she bent down and kissed him on the cheek. It was chaste and mundane and no warm fuzzy feeling grew in Switch's chest (though he didn't find it unpleasant), so he simply turned away from her and back to his computer, giving her a cue to leave with the tensing of his shoulders and the rapidly increasing speed of his typing.

When the window latch clicked closed moments later and the room was devoid of any eerie presences, Himeko looked up from her work to raise an eyebrow at Switch, suppressing a small smile.

He tucked the gift into the bottom draw of his desk and vowed to open it later when he had some tweezers and a pair of safety goggles present.


	5. 8th

Her twin-tails didn't fit under any hats properly, so she had opted to let her hair down, uncomfortable as she may have found it. It wasn't even a nice hat; it was something she had dug up from the back of the coat closet in her desperation, an overly bright, pink, knitted thing with a goddamn bobble on the top, and it served as nothing but a reminiscent of her childhood and a form of protection from the rapidly falling snow.

It was ugly, hideous actually, but she was grateful for the extra warmth as she shielded her eyes from the white and look up the road at a gradually approaching figure.

As he got closer she could see the amusement on his face. He had noticed the hat (how could he not?) and he produced a lopsided smirk, chuckling with mirth and just generally being an asshole. But the joke was on him; snow seeped through his hair and down his neck, probably under his coat also, and so she smiled with a hidden sense of satisfaction at the likelihood of his discomfort.

"You said you'd be home yesterday," she complained immediately, heading back into the house, "I waited up all night for you, not to mention Mum is going to be so mad."

"There was a lot of traffic!"

"Not enough to make you almost 24 hours late."

Sōjirō shut the door behind them, taking some time to rest his hand on the wood, fingers trailing down the grain, before her brother followed her into the kitchen.

"It's probably for the best that you didn't come home yesterday," she said coldly, pulling a plate of left-over tofu out of the fridge, "Some relatives came over yesterday to drop off presents and I know you don't really enjoy," she hesitated, "conversing...with many people ."

She was angry, and she knew he could tell. Good. She had every right to be. Unlike her brother, tardiness was not something she tolerated with ease. And in addition to that...he didn't even bother to call, and it had been 4am, 5 hours of snacking and terrible infomercials, before she had given up and gone to sleep. And he had no excuse.

Tokyo U, contrary to many other universities, actually gave some time off for Christmas. It wasn't much she was asking of him; it was supposed to be a _family _occasion.

Saaya gestured to the small stack of presents littering one side of the dining table. "Those are yours." He looked at her, frowning, and reached over to pull off her hat. She missed to warmth instantaneously, even indoors. He tugged on the end of her hair that was resting awkwardly on her shoulders and smiled lightly. "You haven't worn it like this for ages, not since you were 11."

A small smile broke through her irritation against her will. She gestured to his hair. It was overgrown and she knew she should have expected no less from someone as lazy as him with little to no adult supervision. "Yeah, but I'm not the only one with some...questionable hairstyle choices." She snorted and backed away from him to pull two mugs out of the cupboard.

Sōjirō rolled his eyes. "I missed you too, sis."


	6. 7th

Roman prided herself with the knowledge that she was a genuinely nice person. Sure, sometimes she felt as though others found her...of lesser intelligence, maybe stupid and annoying even. It was a well-known fact that not everyone was as tolerant as the members of the SKET dance, not that they were overly so either, so she had had a fair share of questionable and borderline mean comments thrown her way. But she _was_ nice; that she could guarantee.

And if she was being honest with herself, she did always try to see the best in people, possibly to an extreme extent, but she was of firm belief that everyone had at least a little good in them.

That was until she had the displeasure of conversing with _him_.

Every single thing that came of his mouth was salacious and unnecessarily rude. Outside of the manga club, Roman wasn't too fussy about the way she was addressed by her juniors; she had boundaries though. And he was smashing through them with an inappropriately placed wrecking ball.

She didn't think such a thing was possible, the Christmas fever had put her in excellent spirits, and she had held very high expectations of him, as though she had met him, she had never truly interacted with him. Cute people were _supposed_ to be sweet.

And he was anything but.

So she hid behind her festive beret (she had taken painstaking care in ensuring she purchased one that lit up) and her tinsel-covered sketchbook, and made a point of hurrying past him in the hallway.

But just as her club door was in spitting distance, he stopped and turned around, wearing a shit-eating grin on his face. Roman was not, by any definition of the word, a violent person, but she felt the almost unrestrainable urge to punch something. Someone in particular.

"Hey," Cherry called down the hallway, "Merry Christmas, Tiny Tits."

She settled for slamming the door behind her.


	7. 6th

Christmas was a pain. He didn't mean to sound like the Grinch or Scrooge or any other surprisingly lovable anti-Christmas character, but there were just...so many things that could go wrong. Everything had a possibility of going wrong, and considering he wasn't exactly the luckiest guy on the planet (sans his face as he had been told before) no-one could blame him for having low expectations.

He had read somewhere that the death toll sky-rocketed around the Christmas season, and although he didn't expect to _die_, he had started to realise that, taking into account his past experiences, death may be the least painful (or at least the least embarrassing option).

And so Daimon took the liberty of planning everything in advance, down to the last second. Giving someone a present was no easy task in itself, but giving Quecchon a present he knew would be a far more...strenuous task.

He vowed to attack when the moment was right. If he gave it to her while she was wearing her mask, at the very least, she would accept it with grace. There was no guarantee she wouldn't bin it as soon as the mask came off, but he decided if he could just express his affections without completely and utterly humiliating himself, that would be enough.

Every day, club time ran after school until 4:30, in which all the members of the Quiz Society would leave, except Quecchon and himself who would always stay behind to stack the question cards and fold away the chairs. This would be the perfect time to strike, she would be in her more agreeable mode and they would be alone. Unless she had an event booked, her grandmothers birthday for example, and had to leave early, meaning he would have to chase her down the hallways. And what if he did something stupid, like tripping over his own feet.

She would help him up; she didn't take off her mask until she got to the changing room. The gentle, caring Quecchon would be in close proximity to him, and although they might not be alone, it would make another perfect opportunity.

But what if her mask fell of as she helped him up. It was a very likely possibility. And then what would happen? An outstanding level of mortification slapping him in the face is what would happen. And then he would be subject to the taunts of not only her, but the bystanders also.

She would easily spot the present in his hands and she would reject it, possibly stepping on it as a final act of dismissal, before turning away, flipping her perfect hair behind her.

Daimon chided himself. Sure, he was unlucky, but there was absolutely no way all of those things could happen to him. He tapped a gold bow to the top of the festive paper and smiled.

No way.


	8. 5th

The Christmas tree was slightly slanted to the left, leaning unsteadily over the couch, and offering the promising opportunity of death by sparkly ornaments to any unlucky sitters. It was an accident waiting to happen.

It looked nice though (and it better have done; it took her and her mother 3 hours so assemble and decorate), lighting up the living room in a warm, festive glow.

Christmas was something Rumi liked to take time to enjoy. She went all out, wrapping presents to the best of her ability (which, if she was being honest with herself, wasn't a lot). But putting up the tree was and always had been her favourite part of Christmas. Untangling the lights was a hassle, frustrating as hell to put it lightly, but it all seemed worth it, especially as they had recently bought the colour changing kind that she couldn't help but smile at.

She hadn't created hand-made ornaments since she was 10, but they still hung at the front of the tree, alongside Bossun's. Needless to say, his were slightly...better. It wasn't as though Rumi had no artistic ability, but she could admit when she had been beaten. But hey, not everyone could be a crafting prodigy.

Her dove, misshapen as it may be, was still pretty nice.

Akane walked back in from the kitchen bearing two mugs of something warm and steaming, and handed one to her, smiling softly at their hazardous creation. "It looks nice, don't you think?"

"Sure, if whoever's sitting there," Rumi pointed to the couch, "doesn't mind being stabbed." She cocked her head and stared at the fairy lights, "Or possibly electrocuted."

"Where's Yūsuke?"

"I sent him out to buy cream-puffs."

"Again?" She chuckled, "This is the third time this week; he's not your slave, you know?"

The slave-driver in question snorted into her tea. "That's what you think."


	9. 4th

Haru found her gloves were slightly too big for her hands, but needless to say, she didn't exactly have another pair to change into. Though she was young, she had realised donations to the orphanage were scarce as they were and really, she was lucky to have been blessed with the privilege of gloves as it was. She was always grateful for any presents she got, especially around Christmas, though she did notice that as she was one of the younger children, she tended to be luckier in terms of distribution than some of the others.

Saying that, Ryōsuke also got his fair share of gifts, but seemed less willing to use them. She didn't know whether he was being ungrateful or plain stupid. Either way, he insisted on going out into the snow with nothing but a thin coat on, completely ignoring the minders warnings of scary things like frostbite and hypore...hypo...hypothermia.

It was quite stupid actually, but he had never been one to consider the consequences of his actions.

She held his hand in a futile effort to warm them as they plodded through the snow. She loved Ryōsuke. So much so that she was willing to overlook the stickiness of his hands that was no doubt going to ruin her gloves. She didn't know what it was that made them that way and honestly, she didn't care.

Ryōsuke bent down to collect as small pile of snow with his free set of fingers.

A minder held Haru's other hand, gripping slightly tighter as they crossed the road in a small line, trailing behind the small group of children ahead of them. The park was just across the street, and although the swings were too wet and slippery to be safe, the open field made an excellent battle ground for snow ball fights and things of the like. Two girls were adding pebble eyes to their snow man in the corner of the expanse.

There weren't many cars to look out for as they crossed the road, it was snowing after all, but their minder warned them nevertheless about the importance of being careful and looking both ways as they crossed.

Haru nodded, watching as one of the girls took off her scarf to wrap it around the snowman's neck.

Ryōsuke shrugged and brushed the snow off of his tiny hand.


	10. 3rd

Tact sat in the corner of the room, arms crossed in defiance and stared at his shoes. It was unnecessary. Everything was unnecessary and he had better things to do with his time. Christmas wasn't even a national Japanese holiday, and if the country felt no need to officially celebrate the event, then neither did he.

Of course, Silk had already called him the Grinch multiple times, in addition to throwing plastic baubles at him from across the room and, when she was feeling creative, planting scraps of tinsel and Santa stickers in his blazer pockets by some unknown method. Yes, her skills were impressive and useful to the team, but sometimes he wished she wasn't quite so talented.

He was grateful Smile never talked anyway, and so couldn't pester him about his lack of Christmas cheer. He had somehow managed to place himself on the narrow ledge over the window, working in collaboration with Silk as she handed him tacks and fairy lights from her position on the floor. She even threw one of the small metal pieces at the club leader, most likely missing him on purpose as so not to harm him, though he failed to find it amusing.

He had never celebrated Christmas before in his household so he didn't see the point in starting now. Granted, a contributing factor to his home's lack of festivities may have had something to do with Yagi's unenthusiasm, but he decided not to dwell on that.

Smile somersaulted off of the ledge in a completely unnecessary display of talent and landed across the room and next to the light switch. A whine entered the room as the lights were turned off and Tact later suspected that it may have come from him.

The multi-coloured lights went on almost immediately, illuminating the room and the smiling faces of his club mates.

Silk turned to him, throwing another bauble as she spoke, though he was used to her antics by this point and dodged the flying gold plastic with ease. "See, this isn't so bad."

Tact grimaced and leant back in his chair.


	11. 2nd

"Onii-chan, Onii-chan, Wake up. It's Christmas!" When Shinpei was seven, he was significantly less cool than his to be teenage self. He smiled a lot more for starters. He was more excitable, less laid-back, and more easily amused. He ran around the dojo jumping and laughing on a regular basis.

The Christmas season had lifted his spirits more if that was even possible, and he had taken to using gingerbread scented candle sticks as shinai, occasionally hitting his brother in mock fight at which Shinzō would clutch his chest and pretend to fall back in agony and die in the most ridiculous manner possible, smiling as his younger brother giggled from behind his stick of wax.

However, things such as this only happened when Shinzō was in one of his more agreeable moods, for example, any time that wasn't before the sun came up in the morning. Shinpei bounded onto the bed, bouncing on his brothers semi-unconscious, but unmoving, body. "Get up. I want to open my presents."

"What is the time?"

"5:30, I've been awake since 3, but Father said—"

The lifeless lump underneath the blanket suddenly sprung to life, grapping his brother by the waist and pulling him down next to him with a loud thump and a small snort as he was kicked back in retaliation. The weak blows to his sides didn't hurt, but they were annoying and likely to leave bruises if the action persisted, so Shinzō lifted up the side of his blanket and waited until the kicking stopped and he was joined under the cover.

Shinpei crossed his arms over his chest and frowned, "That wasn't very nice."

"It was not very nice of you to wake me up so early either." He was expecting a fight or retort at the least but young children had ever-changing minds and short attention spans so instead he was asked, "Onii-chan, what did you get me for Christmas?"

Shinzō chuckled and burrowed deeper into his blanket, "I'm not telling. You'll have to find out."

"But that's what I wanted to do in the first—" He stopped talking when he was elbowed in the ribs and chose instead to glare at his brother.

"The presents will still be there at a reasonable hour of the morning. Go to sleep."


End file.
